I really shouldn't be on the internet right now, but...

... RIP, Bernie Mac. Dear G-d, this was a shock.

K.

Dad: Making me just a little more paranoid, one comment at a time

India called today.

I'm not sure what I was expecting-- it was really just an exploratory interview over the phone. Luckily, my one fear did not come to pass: that the interviewer's accent would make nearly impossible to hold a conversation. Her amazing English allowed me to escaped sounding like a mouth-breathing doofus. This time, anyway.

I explained the job to my parents afterwards. My dad gave me a look.

"Couldn't you just do that from the US? Like, over the computer?"

"I guess. But then they would have to pay me American wages."

"Kate, you're going to laugh when I say this, but I'm quite serious."

"Hmm?"

"You need to check this out to make sure it isn't white slavery."

??!!!

So, what am I supposed to do? Call my interviewer back up and ask her very nicely if I'm signing up to be put into bondage and would she please be honest with me about it?

Seriously, New York jobs that I have applied for, call me back. It would make life so much easier.

K.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I just applied for a job in India. Please don't kill me.

You see, it's like it was made for me. They actually want a English/literature major who can work with international co-workers all while editing in both American and British English. I've done all of that.

Granted, this company has something to do with finances and I don't know a thing about that (much like I don't know anything about shoes), but knowledge of the financial world was optional, you see.

I'm kinda hoping that they'll call me.

Sorry?

K.

Scattered Thoughts: Reasons Why This Day Sucked

• I woke up at 4 AM. Enough said.

• I was driving along Rt 30 towards West Chester when I saw stuff animals scattered about the roadway. It looked like a plushie massacre. Normally I would be amused by this, but I kept wondering if these animals were meant for someone. Plus, there's something deep inside of me that says stuffed animals have feelings. I'm sentimental.

• After the stuffed animals, I was cruising down Rt 100 when I saw a turtle at the side of the road, holding his head high and lifting his leg to step into the busy highway. The next thing I knew I was pulled over about 200 yards away, speed-walking down the emergency shoulder of the road, eighteen-wheelers screaming by me, hurrying towards that little animal about the make a big mistake. Unfortunately, I got there too late. I suppose what really got me was how confident that turtle looked as he began his great adventure. The further I get from the event, the sadder I feel. I wouldn't be surprised if I cried myself to sleep over one naive animal. (One thing that made me laugh in spite of myself: I described how the turtle's blood looked on the pavement to my friend Jen-- thick, like scarlet acrylic paint. Ever the the sensitive type, she exclaimed: "So that's how they get red paint! They squeeze it out of turtles!" Evil.)

• I parked in the spot that Jen directed me to in her apartment's parking lot-- a spot that is actually hers. Yet, when I came out a few hours later, someone had left a note calling me a "shithead" with a rather elementary illustration on it. Sorry? I think the polite thing to do would have been to ask me to move, which I probably would have done, whether I had a right to the spot or not. I fear for the future if this is the level of discourse I have to deal with in the real world. I think I might laugh about this tomorrow.

Granted, it's not like someone physically hit me or I lost a family member or something. It's just that some days suck more than others. And this one suuuuuuuuuucked.

Here's hoping for better ones!

K.

Dear ANSWER,

We've had our ups and downs-- wait, no, only downs. I realized your crazy wacked-outness when I nearly got shot at one of your rallies. So, I really shouldn't be surprised at this latest weirdness, but, frankly, I am. You reached a new height of suckitude.

Let's talk Rachael Ray for a second. I don't like her. I find her annoying and ridiculous and am firmly in the Bourdain camp about her being a shill for Duckin' Donuts. On a normal day, you'll see that I have absolutely no sympathy for her.

Until this scarf incident. Seriously, are we still talking about this? The woman wears a scarf in a commercial that looks vaguely Arabic and suddenly she's branded a terrorist-sympathizer. Michelle Malkin, who is just below Ann Coulter in craziness, jumps all over the issue, which causes Duckin' Donuts to pull the ad. First, my comments on this.

Look at the scarf. I mean, look at it. This style of scarf is worn all over the world by people who want to see seem hip. I've seen them in the UK, in Europe, and even in China. They are Arab-style, yes, but have nothing to do with the checker board scarf that we often see on jihadists. Now, look at Ray again. Isn't that a paisley pattern? Ooh, beware of the Paisley Scourge!

Now, we could have let this nonsense fade away. But you, ANSWER, you self-righteous organization, you. YOU decide to call for a boycott on Duckin' Donuts for pulling the ad! Anti-Arab racism, my ass-- you're just looking for a fight! If this is the end-all of anti-Arabic propaganda by the Right in your eyes, then I would say that you have some real issues. Do something constructive, like create more Arab-American-friendly education for the public at large. Make some radio/TV/print ads. Do something that will make a difference!

I, for one, will make a difference right now. I'm going out for a Duckin' Donut. YUMMO!

K.

Miley's memoir makes me mad

Dear World,

Granted, Miley Cyrus has done quite a bit more than I have, but seriously, a memoir? The kid is fifteen-- how much can she have to say?

Until she wins the Nobel Prize, she has no reason to pen the memories of her short life and that will only happen when episodes of Hannah Montana are found to magically cure cancer and deflect asteroids hurtling towards Earth.

But, then again, Yassir Arafat managed to bag a Nobel Prize-- so I guess anything can happen on that committee.

Hugs and Kisses,

K.

Jaw Dropping

I've been watching the television show "Bones" lately and it's occurred to me that seemingly every corpse they find has its mouth wide open. It's like the skull forced out one final, silent scream. I'm sure that this is caused by the muscles bracing the jaw bone rotting away and leaving the jaw to sway in the wind, but... eww. It just seems so undignified.

If I'm buried after my death and someone digs me up centuries later, my jaw is going to be hanging to my sternum. Does that bother anyone else?

K.

Running Without the Benefit

Last night, I had a dream where my family and I were staying on some island that was suddenly taken over by Nazis. I know that I spent most of my dream screaming at my family, trying to get them to escape, though they insisted on staying the rest of the night and fleeing in the morning. I believe that we did actually get out alive, which is nice, I guess.

My reason for posting this dream isn't really the dream itself, but the aftermath. I often have these strange, almost violent dreams where I'm running or screaming or getting out of breath in some way. When I wake up, the covers are on the floor and I'm usually missing a pillow or two. And very, very tired.

I sometimes wonder if I've been running in my sleep, much like a hyperactive dog does while he dreams. My father has told me that once, during a vacation, I sat up in bed and screeched, "No! Stop! STOP!" (I still remember that dream, incidentally. It involved George W. Bush shooting at a bunch of us executioner-style. I even recall shouting. I don't think that this dream has any symbolic meaning-- Bush was probably on the TV right before I went to sleep. It could just have easily have been Anderson Cooper taking aim at me, which would have been much sexier.) So it seems to me that if I could have used enough muscles to sit up and scream, then I very possibly be running while horizontal.

I find this really irritating. I dislike the idea of waking up more tired than when I went to sleep. It seems like a waste of time and, frankly, counterproductive. And how exactly can I tell my professors that I've been vigorously exercising in my dreams, therefore, I can't pay attention to the implications of propaganda on our society? Nobody's going to buy it.

If you have any ideas short of drugging me to help me get a restful night's sleep, please let me know. I would hate to have a dream about running the marathon, only to find myself unable to get out bed for days because my body has run 26 miles through the bed sheets.

K.

PS. Posts until 200: 5

Trust the Koreans to Come Up With This

I'm not sure if I will ever eat eggs again.

K.

My Lady Bits Hurt

Currently, I'm watching a program about a family who has 13 children and the 14th on the way (I'm not sure if it's that famous family with the 17 kids or not) and, frankly, I'm kind of sickened. If you really think that you're family is "incomplete," adopt some damn kids!

There are so many children out there on the streets in our own country. How can you possibly add to the world's population so drastically when there are kids that are starving or left to rot in orphanages?

Frankly, I think that having children is an addiction to this couple, as much as drugs and alcohol are addictions to other people. I'm not saying that they don't care for their kids, but come on! Fourteen times is really pushing it.

...

I don't know why I care so much about this. Honestly, these people can do what they want and it will never affect me. The kids seem healthy, polite, and very well-loved. But all I can think about are the kids who will never have parents-- and couples who can never have kids.

Burr.

K.

Things That Make This Blogger Speechless

I don't check all of the major blogs everyday, but I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention when this entry was written.

Bestweekever.tv, one of the many sites I go to in order to indulge in my secret pop culture and celebrity gossip obsession, presented me with this little gem. Click it; I'll wait.

For those of you who clicked, you hopefully read the article. For those who decided to stay in the soothing presence of my blog instead of the flashiness that is BTW.tv, allow me to show you something:



Excuse me while I express my own feelings towards this movie trailor: WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT?!

Aside from absolute shock, I'm not sure how I feel about this. I'm all for spoofing serious issues, but I have to wonder whether this is absolutely necessary.

Jewish comedians/writers, you know I often let you get away with this sort of thing. I hold that hypocritical view that Jewish/Israeli stereotypes are typically our domain and anyone else stepping into it earns my righteous wrath. But seriously guys, you're making the Ghetto Jew crawl out of her hole-- the Jew that wishes that other Jews wouldn't make such a big scene because it's sure to affect everyone else in some horrible way. Ghetto Jew has been out way too often; she would much rather stay curled deep in my gut than make another appearance.

On the other hand... that Hezbullah Hotline thing was kind of funny.

So I echo the BTW.tv people-- I don't know how I feel about this.

Any other opinions?

K.

PS. They mention "Sabra Price Is Right" in that post. For those of you (like me) who aren't aware of this video, I have provided a link. I think I met a couple of these people in Jerusalem.

Doom on Earth

Again, not a lot of time. But I'm sitting here watching the TV while typing my paper and Fearless Planet comes on. Here's a bit of my interpretation of the beginning narration.

"The Earth is breeding the most massive thing ever created. It is a master of reincarnation. Built out of destruction. A world of danger, violence, and fear. It is...

...

...

... The Great Barrier Reeeeeeeeeeef!!!!"

Remind me never to visit the Great Barrier Reef-- it sounds like it might bite off my foot and revel the resulting gore, uttering a great, reef-like roar of primal fury.

I wonder what a reef roar sounds like.

K.

Gettin' Me a Shrimp n' Banana Cocktail!

I was looking through my Scotland pictures today to see if I could find an appropriate desktop background (I was feeling particularly nostalgic), when I came upon this:


Yes, it's a bag of candy shrimp and bananas. What the hell, Scotland? Seriously, this is something I would expect to find in downtown Tokyo, not two blocks away from the University of Edinburgh! And what sort of candy genius decided that shrimp and bananas are a match made in heaven? He/she needs to be sacked.

The scariest thing: we know what the banana shapes are going to taste like, but what about the shrimp??

I'll leave you to ponder that for a while.

The Kitchen Nightmare of My Dreams

It became clear to me that I had been watching too much of "Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares" (the American version, unfortunately) when I had a dream about being best buds with Gordon Ramsey. He was convinced that I was a pretty good cook (in this dream, I hadn't poisoned myself with bad chicken as I had in reality), which totally had me on the gushing fangirl train. It probably does not bode well for me that I have half-crushes on older guys who scream at people. I sense that my self-esteem is going to take a beating in the future.

Stay out of my dreams, Gordan Ramsey!

K.